Wounded
by Art-Over-Matter
Summary: When Anthony and Ian get lost in the worst part of Los Angeles, they are suddenly in the most life-threatening situation they've ever been in together. Rated T for coarse language, drug/alcohol reference, violence, and mild gore.


"Okay," Ian admitted tensely, "I have no idea where the fuck we are."

"Seriously?"

"Um. Yeah."

"You said back there that you thought you were figuring it out!"

"Well, I….I didn't figure it out."

"God dammit," Anthony sighed. "Now what? Siri's fucking with us and Google maps won't work for some reason."

Ian sighed. He could tell Anthony was starting to get pissed. "I'll try to turn around, but I don't even remember how I got here."

"Here, hang on. There's a light up here. That might mean civilization."

"Well, _technically _this is civilization." Ian glanced outside his side window. Admittedly, the buildings around were completely empty and decrepit-looking. It was the very worst edge of LA; a place Ian never would have wanted to find himself in.

"Yeah, but seriously, if there's a building with lights on, it can't be as bad as this."

"Okay, we'll try it," Ian said, pressing the gas pedal again. It was growing dark outside and the buildings surrounding them for blocks weren't lit, with only the few cars parked beside the streets suggesting that anyone was ever here at all.

They drove up to the building that was lit up. There were two cars parked outside of it.

"This…is not civilization," Ian said.

"No, I think it's a fucking bar, dude. Or a strip club. God, I shouldn't have said anything. Let's get out of here."

"How the hell did we end up here?" Ian muttered to himself as he swung a U-turn and started to drive away.

Then the gunshot fired.

Anthony shouted in surprise when the shot broke the glass in the window behind him.

"Shit, what was that?" Ian said, sounding terrified. The car halted suddenly as he spoke, throwing Anthony forward against his seat belt.

"I think it was a gun," Anthony said, starting to breathe heavily in his panic. He turned around numbly in his seat, looking at the tiny hole and series of cracks in the backseat passenger-side window.

Without saying anything, Ian gunned the little red sedan, charging forward through the alleyway in front of them.

Anthony heard three more gunshots and one of them hit the rear windshield, making a popping noise as it penetrated one of the seats behind them.

"Ian, there's a person up there watch out—"

Ian braked, thrusting Anthony forward again as the tires skidded and scraped beneath them. They stopped about six feet from the man in the road, who hadn't even flinched.

The two men sat frozen for a moment, then Ian honked at the man. "Get out of the way, motherfucker," Ian said, not loud enough for anyone but Anthony to hear.

The man looked drunk, but he seemed to have an idea of what he wanted in mind. He approached their car from straight on, blocking Ian's path, but then rounded to Anthony's window and banged a fist on it.

"Ian. Go. Drive. Now," Anthony uttered, sounding stronger and calmer than he felt.

Ian didn't say anything, but he didn't drive, either.

"What the fuck, go—" Anthony started to say, until he actually turned to look at his friend. Ian was staring pointedly at something out his window and slightly behind them. Anthony followed his gaze to see a man with a pistol in his hand, the barrel of the weapon leveled directly at Ian through the glass.

The drunk man hit Anthony's window again, making him jump and give a little cry of surprise. "Ian—"

A muffled voice from outside the car cut him off. "Get out of the vehicle! Now, or I'll shoot." It was the man whose pistol was pointed at Ian. His words seemed directed at both of them.

There was a momentary silence, before Ian opened his car door, leaving the vehicle running, and slowly, cautiously stepped out.

"Take it easy," Anthony heard Ian say, calmly but fearfully. "You can have whatever you want."

"You!" the man exclaimed suddenly, ducking down and pointing the gun at Anthony from across the car. "Get out. Now!"

Anthony opened his car door with shaking hands and got out, his gaze darting between the man nearest him and the one with the gun. His mind was racing with the terrifying possibilities of what could happen. He had virtually no way to defend himself. He'd taken about a month of karate when he was a little kid, and he remembered almost nothing of it now. What were you supposed to aim for on someone? The side of the neck, the groin…what else?

The drunken man, who Anthony was starting to think was not just drunk, lunged forward suddenly and, in an unsteady motion, grabbed Anthony's shoulders and shoved him against the wall of the nearest building, backing away afterward.

"Get off me," Anthony said, no power in his tone whatsoever. "Stay away. You can—you can have this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, tossing it down on the sidewalk in front of him.

As the drunk, possibly drugged man bent down to pick it up, Anthony glanced over at Ian. Ian was standing on his own, back and away from the car, as the man with the pistol rifled through anything in the front of the sedan.

Ian looked up and his ocean blue eyes met Anthony's in the darkness. Their shared look said only one thing: they had no idea what to do, or what was going to happen.

If Ian had to guess, which he didn't even care to do, the long-haired man near Anthony was a long-time drug addict and the one with the gun was experiencing not his first time being extremely drunk. But all he really needed to know was that he and Anthony were in a lot of danger right now and if they made the wrong move, that danger could triple. The best they could do was let the two men have whatever they wanted in the hopes that no one would decide to fire.

"Where's the money?" the armed man demanded wildly, whipping around to point the gun at Ian.

"It's—I—I don't have any with me. Anthony's wallet is ov—"

The man turned again, this time aiming the pistol over the car at Anthony. "Where's your money, boy?" Then he caught sight of the drug addict holding the wallet. "What's in there?"

"Driver's license," the man answered in a less gruff voice than the armed man's, "credit card, a bit of cash. Other shit."

No one was paying Ian any mind, so he started to reach for the phone in his pocket. All he had to do was dial 911. There was no way there wouldn't be cell service here, even if Google maps hadn't been working.

The pistol man started rooting around the back seats of the car as Ian turned on his phone and opened the dial pad. His hand was shaking so hard he could barely press the buttons.

"Where are you doing?!"

Ian looked up right as something cold and hard smacked him in the jaw. His head snapped to the side and he saw pulsing stars in front of his vision. He heard something crack against the sidewalk next to him and he realized he'd dropped his phone.

He saw the man with the pistol in front of him, aiming another punch, this time for his stomach. Ian tried to back up, but he stumbled and felt the blow hit anyway. He doubled over and was left gasping for air, his torso aching from the collision of that fist against his flesh.

"Don't touch him," he heard Anthony say from across the road. "Stay back. He doesn't have anything you want. Just take the money or the car and—"

Ian was shaking his head urgently, praying for Anthony to shut up when he saw the drunk man turn with his pistol and fire twice at Anthony. One shot cracked against the sidewalk, but the other must have hit.

Anthony cried out in pain and bent over, clutching his right thigh.

"Anthony!" Ian yelled, starting to take a step toward him but then stopping as the pistol was turned back toward him.

Even in the darkness surrounding what little light Ian's car gave off, he could see the dark blood seep through his friend's fingers. All he could do was watch….

The long-haired man, who was still standing across the road, near Anthony, took a few steps forward. He was still holding Anthony's wallet. "I don't think they have anything else."

"I want more!" the armed man slurred loudly. He was starting to look very disoriented.

"Then get it on your own. I'm taking this," the drug addict said, shaking the wallet in the air. He started to leave.

It took a few moments for this to register in the drunk's mind. Once it did, he growled and started to follow. "Give me that. We were in this together!"

Ian stood still only until the drug addict began to run, followed by a few shots from the gun. As soon as the two men were out of sight, Ian ran to Anthony's side.

Anthony was sinking to the ground, his eyes closed.

"Anthony! No. Come on, man. Stay awake."

"I'm…I'm still awake," Anthony mumbled, his face tightened with pain.

"I need your phone," Ian said, putting a hand on Anthony's back. "I've gotta call and get help. Stay with me."

Anthony took a quivering hand off his bloodied leg to reach in his pocket. He grunted in pain as he extracted his iPhone from the pocket nearest to his wound.

Ian took his hand off Anthony's back in order to grab the phone. Under other circumstances, he might have winced at the wet, sticky texture of the device due to Anthony's blood, but at this point he was so worked up that it didn't faze him.

Anthony had never known pain like this. It wasn't as sharp as he would have expected; it was a dull, powerful throb throughout his entire right leg and hip. He felt cold and feverish was aware that he was shaking.

All he could see was the patch of filthy asphalt in front of him, lit up by Ian's car's headlights. All he could feel was pain and the hot, sticky blood seeping out from under his fingers and crusting around his wrists. All he could hear was Ian's terrified voice and all he could taste was the dryness of his own throat.

"It's okay, Anthony," Ian said after ending the call with 911. "They're on their way. Everything's gonna be okay soon."

Anthony just moaned, nodding vaguely. His stomach tightened violently and his body heaved, vomiting just hard enough to miss his own hip.

"Oh, Anthony," Ian said, whimpering slightly with fear and pity. "I'm sorry. It's gonna be okay. Here, lay back."

Anthony's brain wasn't fully processing Ian's words, but he felt gentle pressure on his shoulder and understood what Ian wanted. He started to lay back, but as soon as he took his hands off the bullet wound, it started to burn even more.

"Ah! No, no…." He sat up as quickly as possible to reapply the pressure to his leg. The motion made him feel dizzy.

"It's okay, it's okay," Ian said, panicked. "Lay back. Just take your hands off it for a minute."

Anthony shook his head. All he wanted right then was to make the pain stop.

When Ian had coaxed him into taking his hand away from the wound and laying down, the younger man took off his shirt and sloppily folded it into a thick pad.

"What're you doin'?" Anthony asked hazily.

Ian didn't answer and instead warned, "This is gonna hurt at first. Sorry, man."

"No—"

Ian put the shirt down on Anthony's wound and pressed hard. Anthony cried out, his whole body tensing as he tried to fight the sensation.

"I'm sorry, Anthony. I'm sorry," he heard Ian say.

He felt so cold, and he was shivering as if to prove it, but he was sweating as though he had a fever. His discomfort was at its maximum right now; it wasn't as though the pain was going away.

He started to drift in and out of consciousness.

It was killing Ian to cause his friend this pain. He knew he was doing what he had to, but that made it no easier to see him like this.

If there was one word to describe how Ian felt right now, it would be terrified. He was terrified that those two men were going to come back. He was terrified that he was going to lose Anthony. He was terrified that the police and ambulance were never going to find them. He was terrified of being so terrified.

Ian could feel Anthony still trembling under his hand, even though for the most part his friend was starting to relax. He did his best to tear a strip off of his shirt and used it to tie the rest of the red-soaked cloth to Anthony's leg. He was trying to remember where else he needed to apply pressure in order to make the bleeding stop.

He wished that time would just move in a blur, like it always would in movies, but instead, every second was excruciating and detailed. The smell of the car still rumbling behind him, the coolness of the air on his exposed skin, the pain in his jaw from the gun earlier.

"Ian…" Anthony mumbled drowsily, his eyes only flickering open for a moment. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah," Ian whispered so quietly his couldn't even hear himself. Then again, "Yeah. I'm here. The ambulance is coming, too. I can hear it." He wasn't lying; he really could hear sirens in the distance.

"It's okay," Anthony said as though in a stupor. "I only need you. I only—" He cringed as he tried to move the wrong way.

Ian felt as though his heart were going to snap in two. It was so hard to sit here like this. So hard….

"Yeah, it is okay," Ian agreed, his voice almost convincingly calm. He put his hand on the side of Anthony's head and clumsily stroked his hair. "I'm here for you."

Anthony seemed to drift out of consciousness again.

Ian could hear the sirens grow louder. It was just a few more minutes, surely, and they would be able to go to the hospital.

He looked down at the makeshift bandage around Anthony's thigh. It was almost completely drenched in blood, although there was none that was freely flowing anymore. Remembering another way to stop the bleeding, Ian found a pressure point between the top of Anthony's thigh and his groin and pressed his thumb into the point, trying for anything to stop the frightening flow of blood.

Anthony remained unconscious until the ambulance arrived.

The next thing Anthony knew, he was staring at a ceiling. He didn't wake up slowly, as he would in the morning after a night's sleep. His brain just switched on all of a sudden and he was aware of things again. He didn't feel normal, certainly. He felt quite groggy. But he was conscious.

He heard what he recognized as hospital noises and smelled the clean, vaguely metallic or perhaps rubbery scent of a hospital room.

The blinds were closed over the window to his right, but he could still see that light was trying to come through. He frowned. How long had he been out?

Anthony tried to move his legs, but his right felt very numb and heavy. No pain, though. His mind flickered back to what he remembered last.

Sitting on the cold, hard ground. Fire in his thigh. Ian talking on the phone. Before that, the pistol. Being robbed.

Everything after that was hazy, as if he had been drunk. But it was coming back to him.

Eventually, a nurse came in the room, followed by Ian. The nurse hardly said anything as she checked the tubes going into Anthony's arm and the couple of machines set up next to him.

"Thanks," he said quietly to her when she was done, not exactly sure what she was doing but fairly sure he should be thankful anyway. She smiled and escorted herself out.

"How you doin', man?" Ian asked from the couch in front of the window.

Anthony shifted to look at him. Ian looked tired and the left side of his jaw was dark with a bruise, but otherwise he just looked like Ian.

"I'm okay, I think," Anthony answered.

Ian looked at his lap. "You had me pretty damn worried last night."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"It's not your fault. _I'm _sorry that shit had to happen." He sighed. "The police caught the two guys and had them arrested. I don't know any more than that."

Anthony nodded, but didn't say anything.

"You've been out for about sixteen hours, if you're wondering. It's nine-forty."

"Yeah, I was wondering. Jesus. That's a long time. What've you been doing the whole time?"

Ian shrugged. "I got checked up by some nurses. Then I tried to get some sleep. Then I came back to here and waited for you to come around."

Anthony smiled. If Ian was nothing else, he was faithful. "Thanks, man. You really helped me last night. I wouldn't be here without you."

Ian just nodded. "Yep. I'm a real hero."

Anthony didn't really know if he was being facetious or not. He didn't need to.

Not long, he knew, and he would be out of the hospital. Ian and he would go home and their lives would return to normal.

After that night, they really needed it. ●


End file.
